The Nuclear Catastrophe (a fiction novel of survival) (18 page)

“
Bernie,
”
said Max slowly,
“
you wouldn
’
t believe that left hand of his. First, he lost a finger from cancer....and then the whole back of his hand became a huge, black malignant growth that spread half way up his arm. God,
”
he shuddered,
“
if it had been mine, I
’
d have had the whole limb amputated right to the shoulder.
”

“
Didn
’
t he?
”
Parsons asked.

“
No....he wouldn
’
t. And it probably wouldn
’
t have mattered, I suppose. He didn
’
t live much longer.
”

The quick-energy sugars from the juice were beginning to renew Max. Now animated and anxious to continue, he asked,
“
Say, is it true, what I
’
ve heard about you?
”

Parsons looked up in surprise. He wasn
’
t aware of any rumors going around, and at any rate, he didn
’
t figure the pudgy urologist to be a gossip monger.
“
I don
’
t know,
”
he answered.
“
What have you heard?
”

Max picked up Bernie
’
s empty juice can and inspected it casually.
“
Someone told me that you never send a bill to a patient who
’
s terminal. Is that true?
”

Parsons ran his fingers through his hair.
“
Yeah....that
’
s right. Why?
”

“
Oh nothing. It
’
s just that I
’
ve never heard of anyone doing that kind of thing before.
”

Having no interest in making explanations, Parsons let the comment pass. He was still irked that Cash Archer hadn
’
t come to the isolation unit. Archer was bloated with ego, puffed with self- satisfaction about how great he was. Well, if he was really that good, he should be down here, thought Parsons. After all, Max and the others....

“
How is it that you volunteered to work with these patients, Max? You
’
re a family man. Weren
’
t you worried about getting your family out of this?
”

The short, stodgy urologist answered rather quickly.
“
No, Bern. My son
’
s in military school in West Virginia. My daughter is raising hell at U.C. Berkeley, and Louise, my wife, is in a European health spa with one of her friends. I guess you could say that old Dad here was all alone. So I figured....what the hell. Why not do something just for the sake of doing it, for a change?
”

Military school, Europe. It must cost Max a hunk of money to keep his family going.
“
Your wife is in bad health?
”
asked Parsons.

Max verged on laughter for a second.
“
Because she
’
s at a health spa? Hell! The name is misleading. It
’
s really a fat farm where overweight gals go to take off the lard.
”
He patted his stomach.
“
I could do with some of that myself, I guess.
”
His gaze drifted away briefly.
“
When this is over maybe I
’
ll go with Louise. Yeah, that sounds like a good idea....maybe I
’
ll do just that.
”

“
Dr. Parsons! Dr. Parsons!
”
Nurse Henry motioned to the physician.
“
Come quick! You won
’
t believe how many are piling in on the parking lot!
”

The respite was over.

Chapter Eight

Their escape from the disaster zone and arrival at the outskirts of Blythe, the small California city bordering Arizona, had not been at all as the Warings had expected. Leaving San Mirado, Frank had imagined that they
’
d make the trip to the state border by dusk and be across and into Arizona shortly thereafter. But long before the desert community had come into view, the Warings began to realize that some complications lay ahead. To begin with, traffic had been more and more congested as they
’
d approached the border. Cars lined the shoulders of the main artery, their radiators overheated from steady driving and the hot, late summer sun. The whole area had taken on the aura of some gigantic cattle pen filled with milling people. For as far as could be seen there were hundreds and hundreds of automobile tops shimmering in the heat.

At first, Paula and Frank thought that this spectacle of throbbing human life simply indicated a back-up at the border crossing—too many people trying to cross into Arizona at once. Then, finally reaching a position still on the outskirts of the city, they were forced to draw their vehicle to a halt, the crush of machines and people making further progress impossible.

As night came, the city of Blythe became inundated by strangers. Services were rapidly deteriorating in the business  districts. Huge, underground gasoline tanks were emptying. Water hydrants had long lines of people waiting their turns for the precious fluid. Food stores and restaurants were being virtually depleted of edibles. And public restroom facilities had hours ago jammed from over use.

Those on the edge of town just waited to enter. Blocked in on four sides and unable to move, Frank and his family had reluctantly passed the night parked at the side of the road. It had been noisy and unsettling. There was a constant racket of car doors slamming, motors, horns, and talk. Headlights frequently cut through the darkness as the impatient tried leaving. The only comfort was the coolness of the desert air. The nighttime chill had been a blessing, a relief from the daytime heat.

At dawn, unable to sleep and with eyes gritty from fatigue, Frank quietly opened the door, looking out at the littered landscape. Some people had managed to extricate their cars and leave.

Paula had spent the night as restlessly as her husband. Her back ached from the cramped quarters of the car and her mood was petulant. She felt Frank slide off the seat.
“
Where are you going?
”

Shush,
”
replied Frank softly.
“
You
’
ll wake the kids.
”

She bolted upright in the seat. They had decided during the night that Frank shouldn
’
t leave them while it was dark, for safety
’
s sake, but with daylight he
’
d have to get out and scavenge for some food.
“
Frank!
”

“
Shush, Paula. I
’
m going to see if I can
’
t get us something to eat.
”

“
How long are you going to be gone?
”
she asked sourly.

“
Lord, I don
’
t know, as long as it takes. I
’
ll be back when I find some food.
”
With that Frank disappeared.

Paula tried unsuccessfully to settle comfortably into the seat. She glanced back at Kim and Jerry. The two youngsters were soundly asleep. Children....they can sleep through anything. She pulled a tissue from its box and wiped her face. Her skin was oily, badly in need of soap and water. God, what she
’
d give right now for a tub of hot water filled with bath salts. To luxuriate. This nightmare was a pain.

She stretched her legs, pushing against the floor of the vehicle. There was a soft pop as her right hip slipped firmly into the socket; she winced at the tiny spurt of pain. What a mess this was! Sitting out here in this god-forsaken place, completely surrounded by people she didn
’
t know and would never know, with the smell of human excrement heavy in the morning air—how demoralizing. They
’
d been fools to rush out like they had. And she
’
d known it then, yesterday, when Frank was in a frenzy to get out of San Mirado. They hadn
’
t thought to bring one drop of water with them. Yet two large containers of mineral-free water sat at home in the garage. And food? She always kept the cabinets well stocked. She shopped the specials at the supermarket, she clipped coupons—her kitchen was loaded with cans and boxes and jars. She visualized each compartment, each shelf in the cabinets; she knew precisely where every item was located. And they hadn
’
t brought one speck of food with them, not one speck. An old hand carved clock, and a Persian Paw stole, but no food. Paula hated the idea that she
’
d been so thoughtless as to never consider bringing food or water along. But then, it was Frank
’
s fault, too. He
’
d started right in rushing them the moment he burst into the house.

“
Mom?
”
The boy
’
s voice was plaintive.

“
What is it, Jerry?
”
Paula asked, turning to look at her son.

“
I don
’
t feel so good.
”

She reached out and touched his forehead. It was hot against her fingers.
“
Are you sick at your stomach?
”

The boy raised himself up, his face suddenly very pale.
“
I think I
’
m...
”
and he lurched toward the window. The retching sounds preceded the vomit by a couple seconds, but in that time the weakened child couldn
’
t get the window down. In the next instant the bile-loaded, foul-smelling regurgitate hit the glass.

“
Jerry!
”
screamed Paula.
“
For God
’
s sake, get the door open!
”
Her arm flashed out, and she grasped the handle and pushed. The door swung wide but not before the vomit smacked against her arm. Repulsed, Paula leapt from the car and pulled Jerry out.

He soon stood at the side of the vehicle, retching. When the last heave subsided, Paula used tissues to wipe the boy
’
s face and clothing, then her arm. The youth was trembling and much paler.
“
Are you going to be sick again?
”
asked Paula.

Jerry could only nod weakly.

“
Then go sit on the ground over there while I try to clean this crap out of the car.
”
It was an impossible task, removing the stench. But at least the solid evidence of Jerry
’
s illness was finally gone. And Kim, snoring softly, had slept through the whole thing.
 

Paula sat on the ground beside her son for nearly an hour. The earth was cool beneath them, a pleasure after her efforts at calming Jerry and cleaning the interior of the car. Activity around them was picking up. People stepped over Paula
’
s legs as they passed by; they never stopped to talk, which was just as well. She had no interest in anything they might have to say. All she wanted to do was get out of there—through the mob of cars—and over to Arizona, since that was the destination Frank had picked for them. Surely it would be better over there.

“
Paula, what are you doing sitting on the ground?
”

She looked up into Frank
’
s face.
“
What do you think I
’
m doing here?
”
her voice was waspish.

He seemed perplexed.

Well, God, Frank! Can
’
t you smell the vomit?
”

Frank peered in the car and took a whiff. His nose wrinkled.
“
Jerry?
”
he asked, nodding toward the boy.

Paula
’
s lips drew tight; she didn
’
t give him an answer.

Stooping down, Frank placed a small sack beside her.
“
Here. This is all I could get.
”